The other day, I typed the URL of a website for a high-tech company that I wrote a year ago, with the idea of showing it to a potential client. The site’s launch was delayed for various reasons, and by that time I was immersed in other projects. So I had never taken the time to look at it in its public (live) state.
When I finally checked it out, my heart sank. Somebody had awkwardly rewritten the Home page. Other pages were rife with grammatical mistakes and clumsy, extraneous verbiage I’d never seen before.
Actually, this was far from the first time website copy I wrote that was approved by the client had appeared online in sadly altered form. We’ve probably all seen surprisingly stupid mistakes everywhere online, even on the sites of major corporations.
Why and how does this happen? I think there are three key reasons:
Impatience. It takes so long to design and program a sizeable site that companies tend not to want to wait even a few days longer for someone to proofread all the content and then make needed corrections.
Cost-cutting. Websites are so expensive to create that proofreading probably strikes most companies as a dispensable “extra.”
Ignorance. Many people don’t understand the “domino theory” of writing. Careful writers assemble sentences and paragraphs to introduce concepts in a clear and logical way. Eliminate or rewrite as little as one word or one sentence, and the entire structure falls down.
So what can be done to improve this situation?
> Site designers and web producers: Build in time for the writer/content provider to take a careful look at the site before it goes live. Realize that this helps ensure a polished finished product . . . surely worthwhile after all the effort you put into it!
>Writers/content providers: Include in your estimate a line item for site review. Even if you don’t consider yourself a proofreader (as I do not), this is the only way you can try to preserve the approved copy, minus last-minute client add-ons, line-break glitches, inadvertently repeated copy chunks and other website plagues.
>Clients: Please keep your hands off the copy you approved! If something comes up that requires a factual change, ask your writer to make the fix.
© Cathy Curtis 2010
Wednesday
Monday
The 'Sample of One' Problem
In my newspaper days, it usually happened on Mondays. Bursting with enthusiasm, an editor would announce a major feature story to be assigned ASAP. This groundbreaking piece would inevitably be based on something that gave him an "aha" moment over the weekend.
Such as Lawns.
“Uh, lawns?” we said. (What next? Flypaper?) “What about them?”
The editor sighed. (Jeez. These reporters must all be city kids.) “I was tossing a Frisbee with my kids on Sunday, and it hit me. Lawns are the center of the suburban experience. There’s so much to say about them. But I leave the digging (heh heh) to you.”
The Lawns story was written (thankfully, not by me). And rewritten. And heavily edited. And rewritten. And re-edited. It seemed that no approach to this topic could give life to the springy, bright green Unformed Thought in that editor’s mind.
When a rather dull story about lawns and their care was finally published, the editor disowned it. Not what he wanted. (Whatever that was.)
Most of us tend to think that just because we were bowled over by something, everyone else will be equally smitten. Even when we can’t seem to explain what was so great about it.
The opposite holds true, too: If I don’t like it, no one will like it. (Even if I can't really tell you what's wrong with it.)
A good friend of mine calls this the “sample of one” problem. It has a way of dominating the conversation and stomping on reason and practicality.
>If the target audience of a website is 11-year-olds, should it matter if the 40-year-old who is designing the site doesn’t find it compelling?
>If a client keeps rejecting prototypes for a new project simply because they don't "feel right," does this demonstrate a discriminating mind at work or the actions of an insecure person overly worried about keeping her job?
>If a copywriter who hates jargon removes all the technical words from a project description, will it be appropriate for its target audience of specialists?
The moral of this story is twofold:
1) If we feel strongly about something (pro or con), we need to be able to articulate clear-cut reasons.
2) These reasons need to make sense within the context of this specific project and its intended users.
Such as Lawns.
“Uh, lawns?” we said. (What next? Flypaper?) “What about them?”
The editor sighed. (Jeez. These reporters must all be city kids.) “I was tossing a Frisbee with my kids on Sunday, and it hit me. Lawns are the center of the suburban experience. There’s so much to say about them. But I leave the digging (heh heh) to you.”
The Lawns story was written (thankfully, not by me). And rewritten. And heavily edited. And rewritten. And re-edited. It seemed that no approach to this topic could give life to the springy, bright green Unformed Thought in that editor’s mind.
When a rather dull story about lawns and their care was finally published, the editor disowned it. Not what he wanted. (Whatever that was.)
Most of us tend to think that just because we were bowled over by something, everyone else will be equally smitten. Even when we can’t seem to explain what was so great about it.
The opposite holds true, too: If I don’t like it, no one will like it. (Even if I can't really tell you what's wrong with it.)
A good friend of mine calls this the “sample of one” problem. It has a way of dominating the conversation and stomping on reason and practicality.
>If the target audience of a website is 11-year-olds, should it matter if the 40-year-old who is designing the site doesn’t find it compelling?
>If a client keeps rejecting prototypes for a new project simply because they don't "feel right," does this demonstrate a discriminating mind at work or the actions of an insecure person overly worried about keeping her job?
>If a copywriter who hates jargon removes all the technical words from a project description, will it be appropriate for its target audience of specialists?
The moral of this story is twofold:
1) If we feel strongly about something (pro or con), we need to be able to articulate clear-cut reasons.
2) These reasons need to make sense within the context of this specific project and its intended users.
Thursday
Around and About
In a recent Advertising Age article about AOL’s projected hiring of hundreds of journalists, one sentence reads: “As an example, the Life network will include sites such as Kitchen Daily and Stylist; Family will include content around parents, kids, tweens, teens and pets.”
Why do so many writers use around in this sloppy way when there’s a simple and appropriate word — about — that begs to be employed instead? “Content around parents . . .” incongruously suggests that parents, kids, tweens, teens and pets are separate islands in an imaginary Content Lake.
For some reason, prepositions — the simple linking words we’ve used all our lives — are taking a beating in print today. They are constantly ignored, overused or confused with other members of their extended family.
Writers use to when they mean from (“My conclusion was different to hers”) and of when they mean with (“I am bored of this”).
Poor little two-letter on is often scorned for the grander-seeming (but usually unnecessary) upon.
At and of, on the other hand, have long been popular favorites, tacked on for emphasis where they aren’t needed. (“Where’s he at?” “I paid too high of a price.”)
Of often goes slumming with off. (“It fell off of the table.”)
Sometimes, a needed preposition goes AWOL, as in “He wrote her to explain” and “She graduated college.”
Meanwhile, around has become the workhorse of the preposition world.
The English language is in constant flux, of course, New usages are always creeping into formal writing, whether grammarians like them or not. But I wonder what it is about around that makes it so popular. Do people instinctively prefer its vagueness? Or its spatial quality?
It's a mystery to me.
Why do so many writers use around in this sloppy way when there’s a simple and appropriate word — about — that begs to be employed instead? “Content around parents . . .” incongruously suggests that parents, kids, tweens, teens and pets are separate islands in an imaginary Content Lake.
For some reason, prepositions — the simple linking words we’ve used all our lives — are taking a beating in print today. They are constantly ignored, overused or confused with other members of their extended family.
Writers use to when they mean from (“My conclusion was different to hers”) and of when they mean with (“I am bored of this”).
Poor little two-letter on is often scorned for the grander-seeming (but usually unnecessary) upon.
At and of, on the other hand, have long been popular favorites, tacked on for emphasis where they aren’t needed. (“Where’s he at?” “I paid too high of a price.”)
Of often goes slumming with off. (“It fell off of the table.”)
Sometimes, a needed preposition goes AWOL, as in “He wrote her to explain” and “She graduated college.”
Meanwhile, around has become the workhorse of the preposition world.
The English language is in constant flux, of course, New usages are always creeping into formal writing, whether grammarians like them or not. But I wonder what it is about around that makes it so popular. Do people instinctively prefer its vagueness? Or its spatial quality?
It's a mystery to me.
Tuesday
The Reluctant Blogger
I think a blog entry is supposed to be like a letter written to a friend.
Unfortunately, a long career of writing professionally has made me think of a blog entry as an essay. With a beginning (make it catchy!), middle (say something memorable!) and end (leave 'em with something to think about!). As a result, I have written quite a few blog entry Beginnings that never get published here, because they lack Endings. Or because their Middles go on so long that I've lost the point I was trying to make.
It's also odd to be writing for no one in particular, in the sense that this form of "publishing" doesn't necessarily mean having readers.
Some days, the thing I really want to write about has nothing to do with with copywriting or or graphic design or clients. Or I can't seem to find an appropriate tone for the content. One of the best bloggers I've read, recently, Dominique Browning (SlowLoveLife) manages to find the quotidian poetry in just about everything she encounters. Bad days don't disturb the essentially even keel of her outlook.
Ultimately, I think it's better to think more and post less. So often, the stuff I read would have been much improved if it were shorter, clearer and more concerned with the world than the self.
Unfortunately, a long career of writing professionally has made me think of a blog entry as an essay. With a beginning (make it catchy!), middle (say something memorable!) and end (leave 'em with something to think about!). As a result, I have written quite a few blog entry Beginnings that never get published here, because they lack Endings. Or because their Middles go on so long that I've lost the point I was trying to make.
It's also odd to be writing for no one in particular, in the sense that this form of "publishing" doesn't necessarily mean having readers.
Some days, the thing I really want to write about has nothing to do with with copywriting or or graphic design or clients. Or I can't seem to find an appropriate tone for the content. One of the best bloggers I've read, recently, Dominique Browning (SlowLoveLife) manages to find the quotidian poetry in just about everything she encounters. Bad days don't disturb the essentially even keel of her outlook.
Ultimately, I think it's better to think more and post less. So often, the stuff I read would have been much improved if it were shorter, clearer and more concerned with the world than the self.
Sunday
Are We Having Fun Yet?
It's less common now than it was before the Great Recession, but some companies can't resist telling the world how much fun their employees have.
I first encountered this syndrome years ago, when writing copy for the website of a high-end residential architecture firm. The principals not only wanted to stress the fun of working at this firm, but they also insisted on including information on the sport each of their athletic staff members pursued. Rather than the usual mug shot, a staff photo would show the employee skiing down a mountain or lobbing a ball on a tennis court.
This struck me as peculiar. Surely someone paying megabucks for the design of a dream home would be indifferent (or even hostile) to the idea of architects having fun.
A client tends to be pretty self-centered when it comes to getting what he or she wants. It could be reassuring to learn that the staff has degrees from renowned universities, has won significant home design awards, and/or has designed homes for famous people (indicating the ability to placate major egos).
But it goes without saying that we expect people in the professions to enjoy what they do. And what they do in their off-hours is their business. Maybe a client in the sports world might be attracted to the idea of a sports-loving architect. But in general, this strategy seemed to be a massive ego-massage that had little to do with selling potential clients on the firm's approach, ability and track record.
A potentially awkward issue in corporate websites is the tension between appealing to a prospective client and appealing to potential employees.
The "employment" section of the site must position the firm as a great place to start or advance a career. Because this section often contains mostly entry-level jobs for recent graduates, it's important to demonstrate that the firm's culture fosters teamwork, encourages questioning, rewards innovation, and so forth. Young potential employees may be attracted by free pizza on Fridays, a casual-attire office, or the notion that everybody is having fun.
The message to clients is necessarily somewhat different — client-centered rather than employee-centered.
Bottom line: Tell potential employees that working at your firm is lots of fun (if it really is; a buttoned-down environment should not be promoted this way), but keep the message for potential clients focused on what you can do for them.
Saturday
E-Mail Exchange: Do I Answer You or Not?
Let's say some materials you promised to send just landed in my In basket. Do I respond with a brief thank-you e-mail?
Or maybe you're sending me batches of material throughout the day. Do I thank you for each one?
What if we've been exchanging e-mails about a particular subject, and your last response was something along the lines of, "Let's do it" or "Let's not do it." Do I reply "Great" or "OK"?
A few years ago, I would have said Yes to all three questions. But now that the volume of e-mail cluttering our In boxes is just short of unmanageable, a new strategy seems to be called for. So I now tailor my level of — let's call it "e-mail persistence" — to the personality of the recipient.
It seems clear that many busy people dislike the bother of opening an e-mail containing a response that was expected, whether "OK" or "thank you." So I respond only when my correspondent might be wondering whether I agreed or would take the step we discussed.
Exceptions to the rule
On the other hand, I do work with people who make a point of responding to every e-mail I send. So I answer all their messages, however brief or trivial. This is an instance of the mimicry that makes for good client-consultant relationships. (Similarly, adopting your client's posture — hands on table, hand supporting chin, etc. — can help foster productive interaction at a meeting.)
People with weighty positions also merit the "persistent" treatment. If you are corresponding with the CEO or the executive director, the appropriate response is to answer every e-mail. Let the client be the one to bow out of the exchange.
And when you're not sure what to do? My strategy has been to forestall any uncertainty by telling my recipient how I'll handle the situation — for example, that I will not respond individually to all the documents she sends today, but will let her know at the close of business* that I've received all 20 of them.
*I was introduced to COB (close of business) by a staff member in a government office. Since then, I've also encountered EOD (end of day). Both are useful shorthand, assuming that we're all working with the same 9-to-5 (or thereabouts) notion of a business day.
Thursday
We're Supposed To Have (Informed) Opinions: An Imaginary Dialogue
Me: If our client wants an approach we feel is inappropriate, we’ll have to tell them that this is not in their best interest.
Designer: Oh, no, we should never dictate to them. We need to listen to what they want.
Me: Sure, it’s our job to listen, and listen carefully. But we’ve been hired for our expertise. So often, clients know (or think they know) what they want, but they don’t understand what their audience needs. So we must explain — in a friendly way — why a different approach is better suited to the project.
Designer: We can’t afford to offend them. They call the shots.
Me: Look, all we can do is present our point of view. In the end, they can get whatever they want — if not from us, then from someone else they hire. But we need to consider ourselves as consultants, not simply as order-takers.
***
I don’t know whether this is a personality issue or a professional niche issue (do other copywriters feel the same way?), but I often find designers to be extremely hesitant to stand up to their clients.
Much has been written in recent years about a key shift in the world of graphic design from “making” to “thinking.” Not that there isn’t a lot of thinking involved in making. But many in the profession have called for a renewed emphasis on the designer as conceptual thinker, engaging his or her client on a macro level. To my mind, this means acting like a consultant.
And if we are to be treated as consultants, we must act as such from our very first client meeting. If the client has already pegged us as merely obedient servants, we’ve lost our professional leverage.
Designers will stand up for client-proposed infringements of specific design rules. If the client doesn’t understand why an extra two pages can’t be added to a catalogue, the designer can fold sheets of paper to show why the minimum additional page-count must be four. If the client wants to clutter a website home page with numerous bits and pieces of information, the designer will explain why this is ill-advised.
But when it’s a matter of discussing how people are likely to perceive something — when we move into a realm with no set rules (or no rules that have been learned in design class) — opinions tend to be withheld or muted.
I believe that this is a form of misplaced deference. Let's be judicious and thoughtful. Let's base our opinions on solid experience. Let's be matter-of-fact, never dictatorial. But for heaven's sake, let's speak up!
© Cathy Curtis 2010
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